Girraween 2002 - Zulus, Campfires and Crystals

The
Zulu drums seemed to echo across the valley as we walked across the
dry paddock. My family had come up from the lowlands and was
ensconced happily back at the campsite. Heading up into the forest I
couldfeel the tension building like an
Englishman’s finger on his Springfield rifle. Then, there it
was before me, Rourke’s Rift. The drums were only my
heartbeat. This was the “get back on the bike” climb
after my big confidence breaking fall at Kaputar, a few weeks
before. Jenny was her usual chatty self, not realising that I could
have happily thrown up at this point. But it was no use letting the
mind demons get in the way of a good climb, so it was gearing up
time and lead away McDuff.

It
didn’t take long to get into the groove ofRourke’s
Rift (bad pun) and the climbing was so enjoyable. 50m up on a thin
belay ledge, with the sun shining and a cool breeze blowing across
the rock, isn’t life grand.

Graham on Rourke’s Rift

I brought Jenny up and continued on. After topping out,
we wandered up to the summit and checked out the views as a chill
wind gave us a gentle hint of alpinism. We headed off to the descent
route with Jenny increasingly nervous at the potential fall lines on
the granite. My navigational skills were spot on once again to
Jenny’s disbelief.

It was a motley, but eclectic crew that headed up to
Girraween in 2002. In fact we even had an international flavour,
with a holidaying Kiwi on board and a returning expat who flew in
from Canada, just so he could join the club and go to Girraween.
Expat Patrick was the sort of loveable Aussie larrikin that belay
bunnies could fall in love with. A been there, done that smile
together with a million hilarious stories made for a great climbing
partner and campfire raconteur. He was also a damn fine climber.

There was also the sneaky group, those that don’t
actually work five days a week, who had got there early enough to
head out to Turtle on the Friday and get some climbing in. Although,
from the stories that night it was more of Jenny leading and you lot
can just second up behind me.

Whilst they Turtled, I kept my promise and Ashley
(nearly 6) had her first summit attempt on the 1st
Pyramid. For Lauren on her 3rd trip up, it was a case of
“over here Ashley, go that way or this is the steep bit."
Well Ashley was just fine and gained the summit no problems. Summit
fever couldn’t be genetic, could it?

While Jenny and I were climbing Rourke’s Rift on
the Saturday, Steve was taking some people up Dead Eagle Crack. His
comment on the climb, “the hardest bit was getting round the
dead tree branches.” Umm, Dead Eagle Crack Steve, with an
emphasis on the Dead Eagle bit. Patrick and his Saturday partner in
crime Gunther, climbed up the 2nd Pyramid in fine style
only to realise neither knew the way off. After a few abortive
attempts of gazing down very, very steep slopes, they eventually
found a rap descent gully. Patrick’s description of this
descent was somewhat colourful in a truly literary sense. Saturday
night was another entertaining star-studded Girraween night, with
campfire marshmallows supplied by Lauren.

Patrick on Rourke’s Rift

Sunday dawned fine and the climbing hordes headed off
in various directions. It was a case of “Please take a ticket
and wait your turn” for Rourke’s Rift and then onto
various other climbs on the 2nd Pyramid for most of the
group. Meanwhile Michael Freemantle guided the climbers of the
future off to find Aztec Pyramid.

The future climbing gang

Patrick was keen to see Turtle so the two of us headed
out there. We had an entertaining time playing “find the bolts
when you’re already halfway up the climb.” It was a
magic morning, with nobody else around and watching a wedge-tailed
eagle glide the thermals. Dead tree branches can’t fly, unlike
live eagles, hey Steve.

Then it was back to camp, pack up time and back down to
the lowlands.

The Zulu war chants seemed to whisper through the gums
‘Come back soon.”